


Even if I don’t know what “happiness” is right now,  I’ll just live myself to the fullest.

by KaneNogami



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Hinata has depression and this is heavily referenced in this fic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, The idol industry isn't a great place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25287148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaneNogami/pseuds/KaneNogami
Summary: Koga wouldn’t be able to pinpoint when everything started to escape from his grasp. There must be a starting day, one day where he woke up, Leon heavy on his lap, nuzzling against his stomach, and realized he couldn’t breathe properly in this world. It’s something hard to explain, an emotion between loneliness—stranded all alone on stage, guitar strings making his fingers bleed—and bitterness—that’s not where he was meant to find himself—a longing for old friends, for after school evenings with sodas and a stupid fake vampire napping by his side.All long gone, phantom pain echoing through his body, unexplained mystery without a source.Where were you, when everyone moved on?
Relationships: Aoi Hinata & Aoi Yuuta, Aoi Hinata/Oogami Kouga
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Enstars Rarepair Week





	Even if I don’t know what “happiness” is right now,  I’ll just live myself to the fullest.

**Author's Note:**

> Hinata is running, has been for a while now—no goal in sight, only the sweat against the back of his neck, hair damp underneath his headphones, shoelaces almost coming undone with every step—don’t push yourself Yuta would scold him if he were here. The thing is, Hinata doesn’t want to hear that voice at the back of his head which sound like his brother more than himself—he’s shivering from the heat or the cold, or maybe both at once, unable to remember what’s the world is meant to be like outside of gloomy skies and empty streets. 
> 
> Be unique, don’t be yourself, why are such contradictory statements so important? The same sentences pushed over him over and over, until he cannot recall anything at all.
> 
> // 
> 
> Written for Enstars Rarepair Week day 1 - Dreams, hope you enjoy it

Koga wouldn’t be able to pinpoint when everything started to escape from his grasp. There must be a starting day, one day where he woke up, Leon heavy on his lap, nuzzling against his stomach, and realized he couldn’t breathe properly in this world. It’s something hard to explain, an emotion between loneliness—stranded all alone on stage, guitar strings making his fingers bleed—and bitterness—that’s not where he was meant to find himself—a longing for old friends, for after school evenings with sodas and a stupid fake vampire napping by his side.

All long gone, phantom pain echoing through his body, unexplained mystery without a source.

_Where were you, when everyone moved on?_

Koga is nineteen, and when he is supposed to renew his contract with the agency, he refuses. Not out of respect for these bastards, as he couldn’t care less about them, more because he has a duty as a member until this is official, he calls, explaining that he has chosen another path. The mocking voice is so sharp, ringing against his ear, when Ibara, in charge of whatever this is meant to be, inquires of said path, of why he changed his mind since the previous month. _Fuck you_ , he wants to reply, mouth dry and tears in his eyes, Leon still blissfully unaware of the situation, as if I had a clue. Instead, he says modeling, because why the fuck not.

He’s a guitarist, a singer—not someone able to smile on command, some sort of untamed wolf impossible to reach because this way, he’ll be safe—definitely miles away from a model. Most idols do all of these though, they have no other choice, trying to be something, to matter, to rise above the crowd meant to turn them into perfect copies of one another. And he is unabashedly unapologetic about the whole ordeal, that abrupt shift into his career. That’s not true, to be fair. He has been pondering over that for a while, leaving a myriad of blanks into his conversations with Sakuma, unable to fill them with anything not nonsensical. Akin to a tragedy, a constant fall, Koga fails to see what attracted him in this world in the first place, outside of a bunch of silly ideas.

Being an idol is a burden.

They cannot achieve freedom unless they quit, hiding on the other side of the world ( _he hates_ , some mornings, how Sakuma left once more, finding more comfort in a gloomy country which left him with scars and an uneasy glow in his eyes on bad days rather than staying with them, _loathes_ Hakaze and his stupid college course on marine biology, how he is making friends with strangers and not texting enough, and it’s not his fault; Koga has turned into a bitter creature he doesn’t even understand), and his fingers ache to text Adonis. He does not. They are a duo, impressive remains of a unit long gone, and yet he—Koga is a coward, fine. He is a dumbass, unable to see past his own flaws and pride, gnawing at whoever dares to come too close until they get the message.

Thus, he leaves this world behind.

Ah, that’s a fucking lie.

Hakaze, while mostly being focused on his studies, has given him business cards for various modeling agencies at some point. He cannot recall why or how. He woke up with them in his wallet after a night out, squeezed between bills desperately needed to buy groceries. For one week, he doesn’t touch them, nor he opens Line to check the disappointment from everyone around him. Him being an idol is an investment—well was. A long term gamble to get back money and increase profits. Fuck that, he tells himself, I’ll find any job, don’t wanna depend on anyone.

He ignores the litany of apologies he is expected to offer to family and friends, for ruining years of their lives with his childish dream only to throw it as far possible on a whim.

That’s not it at all! It’s pushing away his own happiness for the sake of others for eternity he isn’t fine with. Bringing joy via his singing, screaming until his lungs are empty on stage, that’s not enough to balance the strain of such lifestyle any longer. The reason why so many of them have lasted until that point isn’t because they are resilient or brave; it’s fear of disappointment, of being nothing more than losers, of ruining sacrifices made in their name without their approval. All for a better future which is only a fucking illusion. The catalyst of his departure isn’t one thing; it’s countless accidents he had to ignore, bruised limbs and fake smiles all for the sake of something he cannot believe in any longer.

Cut him some slack, Yumenosaki was plagued with various horrific stories they ignored in favor of the memories where they were genuinely enjoying themselves. He remembers festivals, a guitar being pushed into his hands by a delinquent who turned into one of his best friends (he won’t admit it, shut up), and honestly, he wouldn’t go back to erase all of it. It doesn’t mean what idols have to endure is fine though. Doesn’t excuse for the ones who didn’t make it, for all the stupid rules pushing them down until they are drowning. Work even if sick, apologize for not being well, lie, again and again, don’t date, make your costumes with your own hands—don’t be yourself more than what’s allowed.

When Koga finally finds the courage to open Line after nine days, he only sends texts to Anzu, telling her ‘thank you’ and ‘how are you, I guess I haven’t checked on you in a while’. It’s been a couple of _months_ , probably. She pretends it’s fine, supporting him without question.

The hole in his heart is only growing bigger, and at some point nothing is going to be left.

‘Thank you’, he sends again, forehead pressed against the screen until it turns itself off.

Eventually, he reaches for one person after another. Tentatively, an arm wrapped around Leon for support (and to stop the wild beast from eating his lunch because he is too indulgent), he reads replies, pushing his pride above his fear. It’s exhausting, to cut ties so brutally, only to realize he is unable to stand without the strings holding his body. That’s the kind of pain you take a lifetime to recover for, he realizes, allowing Leon to steal some meat off his plate without more than a ‘tsk’.

Spoiled dog, he thinks fondly.

A brand hires him for modeling, following the excuse he offered to Ibara what feels like months ago. He has a job at a convenience store nonetheless. Because even if the brand—they used to have a partnership with Sakuma, and they love his wild expression and style, which are apparently fitting for visual kei, hence how he got hired—he still doesn’t belong completely. No agency, a complete lack of assistance in case of something going wrong, to be fair he doesn’t believe that the previous one gave a shit about him, but there is a lot of paperwork and details he isn’t at ease with.

He’s there though. Posing with fake assurance, for clothes which he is sometimes allowed to keep to promote the brand. His Instragram is filled with annoying comments from his UNDEAD friends, mostly Sakuma, that bastard who can’t keep his nose into his own business, who tells him how cute he is under each damn selfie. They are not children any longer, dammit.

Sometimes, when he feels lonely, in the break room of his other job, he stares at the words for a while, until he is grounded once more. Mustn’t be the best way to deal with anything, but fuck it. Koga is trying. He hangs with Adonis more too, coffee shops and pastries shaped like cute animals they share over small talks. He avoids digging too deep, fork twirling between his fingers. What would be the point?

Adonis doesn’t buy it, of course.

He doesn’t push the topic either, and for that, Koga is grateful.

Hinata is running, has been for a while now—no goal in sight, only sweat against the back of his neck, hair damp underneath his headphones, shoelaces almost coming undone with every step— _don’t push yourself_ Yuta would scold him if he were here. The thing is, Hinata doesn’t want to hear that voice at the back of his head which sound like his brother more than himself—he’s shivering from the heat or the cold, or maybe both at once, unable to remember what’s the world is meant to be like outside of gloomy skies and empty streets.

Be unique, don’t be yourself, why are such contradictory statements so important? The same sentences pushed over him over and over, until he cannot recall anything at all.

He’s running into streets turned maze, not even a bag over his shoulder, or a proper jacket on. _Something must have happened_ , he muses, fingers wrapping around a pole as he suddenly takes a turn, shoes whimpering against the pavement. What has he done, he wonders, putting distance between him and some invisible enemy? No, there must be a monster somewhere, made of flesh and rough hands, always grabbing and tossing him akin to a rag doll.

Scars are unfit for an idol, didn’t you know that? You have to be perfect, unblemished so their hands can do the honor of bruising and stealing you away.

Cruelty and fate walk with their hands linked, pushing his body too far, lungs ablaze as the world suddenly changes. There is nothing but a pained gasp as his knee glides against concrete. A rainbow soon to be born, one shade after another, skin swelling and joints aching. He ignores it, pushing bruised palms against the ground to get back up.

_I bruise easily,_ _that suuucks_ , he’ll lie in Yuta’s face the following morning.

_You’re a liar, again_ , and the words will taste akin to betrayal, harsher than ripped skin and torn pants.

Haven’t they worked on that, on anything at all? Hinata has just gotten better at pretending, he fears, in the same way he cannot turn around, not even for one second or else everything will blur into a nightmare. Phantom bruises hurt more than the actual ones, sticking to his skin until he remembers himself as canvas of something ugly, blotches of purple and red blooming everywhere. That’s not pretty, nor it reminds him of flowers or his self-appointed favorite color—pain isn’t a proof of strength, not he should be praised for playing the martyr to soothe the heart of someone who asked him not to do that one hundred times already.

He is still racing minutes later, when the skin has started to itch and become uncomfortable. His leg jerks on its own, leading to his balance escaping his grasp. Leaning against a wall, Hinata doesn’t dare to glance behind him—more than some creature emerging from the abyss, what he doesn’t want to face is—

His brother.

Oh, the fog lingering across his mind is starting to find, only to b replaced by a heavy storm. His shoulders slump, as he allows the ground to welcome him once more. _That’s his fault, again._ As the terrible child he is, he presses a palm against his reddening skin until he has to muffle sobs. That’s nothing, as a street performer he fucked up his body dozen of times already. Even worse when he started attending Yumenosaki. Ah, that’s kind of funny, he is going to graduate in two months and—

Is it wrong, not to know what to do with himself after that? Everybody else seems to have a plan, excited to be released into the real world and he—he is still alive, why? That’s his sole thought, playing akin to a scratched record. What the hell is he still there, bothering Yuta and everyone? He thought he had grieved over Hinata Aoi already. The loss of the child whose cruel father decided didn’t matter, the sacrifice to save the other half of his soul.

Giggles bubble in his throat, and he imagines them soaked in blood, choking on everything he has done wrong up to that point. Gathering his bearings will take too long, thus he remains on the ground for now, glaring at shoes with damaged soles, and chipped nails.

_A_ _part of me is broken, shattered, beyond repairs,_ he thinks, only to hit the back of his head against the wall. _Shut up, you’re not a toy thrown against the floor harshly, people can’t take out the pieces and replace them with new ones. You’re not broken,_ the-voice-is-his-head-who-might-belong-to-Yuta hisses and he feels even stupider. Which is quite an accomplishment, if you ask him.

All of that over a haircut—oh, now it’s clear, the image of that moment. Hinata inquiring about them not matching any longer, just scissors gliding against his scalp, Yuta staring strangely—a sudden step forward, independence usually a game of playing pretend, turned into sincerity within the span of a second—and classmates asking _why would you do that, your whole gimmick is about you being identical, Yuta_.

Of course, the one moving forward can only be his brother, not him. He ignores what happened next, outside of Sengoku elbowing the person who spoke in the ribs, saying _that’s why they should change, if you mistake them from one each other, they deserve better!_ Are the colors not enough? The ridiculous hairpins he has grown to loathe, putting them on harshly in the morning.

And then, he—sprinted as fast as possible. Until night fell, until his lungs couldn’t keep up, and the tears left dried trail against his cheeks. _I hate Hinata_ , he thinks, not daring to say _I hate myself_ instead. There is a difference, subtle and hidden beyond his level of understanding.

Ten missed calls, almost out of battery, and a lengthy message from Ibara or whoever is in charge today, about the importance of not skipping practice. Hinata stares at the words until he cannot remember their meaning.

_I’m fine_ , he lies, he always does, fucking lost cause, to Yuta via Line before turning notifications off. No need for that right now, or ever. Let him crash and burn, until he is able to figure out what’s underneath his skin, outside of shattered bones and misplaces organs.

“Brat?”

He jerks his head too fast, his gaze struggling to recognize the person at first. Baseball cap over gray hair and a face mask adorned with wolf teeth—Oh.

“A stray dog,” he replies, trying to force humor into his tone, thumb brushing against his cheek until the skin is all warm and uncomfortable.

“Oi, how many times will I have to say that I’m a wolf?”

Turns out, banter from their younger years doesn’t ease the pressure inside the flat at all. He isn’t even certain of why Oogami bothered to grab him by the arm, the other holding a plastic bag filled with groceries before dragging him back to his place. At times, everything is gone, replaced by an odd silence, the feeling of something stuck underneath his fingernails or the way his shirt is slightly too light against his body; then Yuta is shaking him with a concerned voice, scolding him about spacing out. But, Hinata isn’t under the impression that he is able to get lost into anything when it happens; it’s everything else who is floating away from him. That’s how he is feeling for a while, sitting on a cushion while the radio plays a song he isn’t familiar with, or perhaps he is, but he cannot even hear the lyrics. Emotions don’t twirl, they aren’t standing on a wire above a crowd eager to film their demise. They are barely hanging in a corner of his mind, out of reach, and he only realizes that’s wrong when Oogami’s voice rise above the usual level.

Which means that he is close to screaming, for sure.

“I told you to take a shower and change, go go!” And once more, he’s tugged against his will, pushed inside the place where people want him to be, “don’t go drowning on me or something,” Oogami adds after a pause, pressing his back on the other side of the sliding door.

He does drown, in a way, dropping a bucket of hot water over his head. It doesn’t jolt him back to reality, albeit it’s a start somehow, when he blinks at lights he doesn’t recognize, scrubbing gravel from his knee and making sure everything is clean. The clothes left for him don’t fit—They’re completely black, loose and covered in dog fur instead of—ah, he misses his cat, and Yuta’s. Or just Yuta—he puts them on nonetheless, staring at his reflection, fingers pushing on the corners of his mouth to lift them into a meaningless gesture. _You don’t have to force yourself_ , the voice chastises him, and he hates this pseudo-conscience he associates with his brother more than self-preservation.

“Shit, here you are! Sit your ass down, do you—”

There is a pregnant silence as Oogami’s gaze slides from his guest to the food on the table. As if he wasn’t sure of—oh yeah, must not know which twin he is talking to, can’t say that he made an effort to differentiate them before. As if he was reading his thoughts, which would be creepy, Oogami scoffs, sitting down abruptly.

“I know you’re Aoi fucking Hinata,” a dark blush spreads on his cheeks as he glares at the food from the convenience store laying in front of them, “You’re the one who likes… Stuff that’s sweet, right?”

“Yay, you remembered!”

“Shut—you can have the desserts then.”

“Not forcing me to eat my vegetables first? How cool of you!”

A hand rises, and it’s fine, he expects it, thus he can handle the blow against his head or whatever his mean older friend will pick to tell him to shut up. However, instead of turning into a hit, fingers curl into a fist, lightly rubbing against ginger hair.

“Seems that you had a rough day, so you can get a treat or something.”

“Woah, Oogami has turned super nice~”

Hinata is aware of the venom hidden underneath blatant mockery; each time Ibara opens his mouth, it feels this way, like he was trying to stab them with his words again and again. He supposes they are similar, both terrible snakes preying on others and twisting their beliefs to corrupt them. Like he does with Yuta, with well-crafted lies. That’s terrible of him, yet he is unable to stop nor care. What’s the alternative? Honesty? Ah, as if that was forgivable either.

Waking up with a dog on his face is one thing, the person sprawled by his side is another. Koga could definitely blame this on the flat. In fact, he does, stretching his arms as high as he can, not bothered by Leon moving onto his legs instead. Soon enough they'll both have to get up anyway. As for the dead weight half on the futon half on the floor—well, Koga didn't plan for any of this. He supposes the brat will go back to the academy soon enough.

Better be realistic; doubt plagues the mind without a warning, until you find yourself stepping as far as possible from the situation, although most people simply go home once they have cooled down. Oogami Koga, who left his agency and ghosted family and friends for a while, is an outlier and should not count.

As for what happened, let's simply say he has no intention to pry into Hinata's life. The other puts such a good show of being 'cute' and 'innocent' that he is disgruntled each time they try to communicate. Nothing near the level he was a couple of years ago, mocking the youngest for being too feminine. Like, what did he even meant by that? Nothing wrong with being cute, he's simply grumpy and stupid sometimes. At least Adonis going out with Naru taught him one thing or two.

(He was as nervous as his best friend when he started to talk about introducing her to his sisters. Koga would have bitten all of them to death, had they been transphobic pieces of shit. Well, that's what he said at least. In the end, Naru has gotten a couple of big sisters and nothing bad happened.)

Not that Hinata is this way, he thinks, if he were it would be fine, and none of Koga's goddamn business. Groaning, as that's enough thinking before breakfast, he steps over his guest to reach the kitchen. Hey, at least the fridge isn't empty, that's a win.

The smile is unsettling at best, downright pissing him off too. The next bus to go back to school is in thirty minutes, thus they are waiting. At least Koga is, wishing to get his flat back to himself (and Leon). He has been tugging on guitar strings for a while, out of boredom. He isn't certain of how to deal with guests properly, which sucks.

"Thanks for having me over, you're a lifesaver."

"Hm, you kind of barged onto my street in the middle of the night, couldn't let you outside."

A part of him is disappointed that it wasn't on purpose, you know. Sure, he wasn't the most active with club duties during his last year... They were a team, or at least meant to be one. Has he let the brat down?

He should refrain from using that term, they feel too old for it. Nonetheless, he finds the hint of nostalgia... Warm. Almost enough to remind him of how they used to hang, all four of them.

"What are ya' doing after graduation?"

It isn't supposed to be a tricky question, most have plans already after all.

Hinata flinches.

His whole body tensing at once, the mochi he's eating pressed against his gums while he remains there, mouth half-open. Fucking wrong thing to ask apparently. Or, perhaps not.

"You've definitely heard that I'm not part of the agency anymore, hm. And—probs' not an idol either."

After what feels like an eternity, Hinata snaps his mochi in half with his teeth, chewing longer than compulsory. Either the flavor is especially fantastic, or he is trying to find a way around the topic.

Aggravated by silence, the kind which feels wrong and itchy against his skin, he focuses on the guitar instead, same old gift still around as a companion. The beat he picks is as soothing as it can be, while he hums alongside the rhythm of his fingers.

He completely misses the way Yuta mumbles a couple of words after a moment, which is a shame as he doesn't seem eager to repeat them when Koga lifts his head again.

"You said somethin'?"

"Not really."

The twins are—beyond what he can comprehend. Or rather, he has never bothered to learn. Koga doesn't enjoy rewinding the past too often, getting sidetracked on small mistakes. His behavior was brash and almost mean more than once, to his juniors, no matter how infuriating they were. Pushing the guitar aside, he gets closer to the low table, crossing his arms over it. Leaning forward, head slightly tilted to the side, he stares.

Hinata returns the gesture, his smile dropping into something different. Lips slightly parted, a sigh passing them, gaze trying to pretend there is no host trying to communicate with him. Koga knows that Yuta's would be more openly angry, a crease between his brows, cheeks slightly puffed. They are both as expressive, and it's a mistake to believe otherwise. Hinata smiles brighter than his brother, and more often, that's not enough to claim the youngest is not showing off his emotions. Most of what Hinata does feel scripted anyway.

Repeating a behavior which is far from healthy, unable to figure out a way to blurt out his emotions. Koga can relate, in the opposite way, being too blunt and not caring about consequences.

Oh, he got punished a couple of times, locked in a coffin or mouth covered by tape—Sakuma must have had a shitty childhood, for treating people this way. Not that anybody has ever bothered to tell him, probably.

"You sure?"

"Ah, you are really nice, it's weird~"

"First of all, fuck off. Also, I won't judge you. And neither will Leon." 

The beautiful beast is busy chewing on a toy, ears perking up at the mention of his name. However, since it includes no move to pet or feed him, he goes back to his initial task.

"A haircut."

"What?"

"I—am getting a haircut. Once I graduate."

That's not the solid life plan that Koga pictured in his mind. He gets what the other is trying to imply though. Immediately, his shitty brain wonders if that's a realistic dream, which sucks since it's such a simple wish, because he is certain the twins have a contract based on how much they are identical. Even their fans seem to bask into this illusion of one soul within two bodies.

Koga might not have made enough effort to tell them apart back then, he regrets it, among other things.

Of course, if Hinata chooses not to sign the contract they are given at the end of the school year... Wait, that would be—

"Which kind?" his voice is as steady as it can be, while he plays with one of his bracelets, only to switch to another after noticing. Sure, the silver one with little skulls is perfect to play with, but it's also a gift from the brand he does modeling for and he cannot afford to break 9000¥ right now. Or ever.

"I'm not sure... Bangs would be fun. Like, above my eyebrows."

"Cool."

The elephant is still in the middle of the room, taking all the space. Koga isn't sure of how to mention it without causing a disaster.

"And your brother's okay with that?"

Another flinch. Woah, amazing here mr.wolf, an impressive foolish move. The plastic tray filled with mochi is empty, leaving no chance to stuff them into his mouth to suffocate, thus he has to deal without assistance.

"Yeah," a pause, "no, I have no idea."

"You haven't told him?"

"Yesterday I tried to—you should have seen how he looked at me—but people called me Yuta, and I got... I was tired. So I left~"

Ran away on the other side of town.

"Students mistake you from one another? Like, you're still doing that thing where you pretend to be each other?" Needless to say, the number of attempts it took them for Koga to realize something was amiss is something he is still ashamed of.

"No, we have stopped doing that. Mostly. I was wearing my headphones around my neck so... "

No excuse then. Using one hand, Hinata seems to have found a fascinating activity in removing the nail polish off his fingers, one after another. This method sucks as it damages the nails, not that Koga can say much since he used to chew on his. Big sign of stress though. Koga isn't equipped for any of this, even less to care for someone who isn't a dog. Leon is a part of his pack, as he jokingly enjoys to say, that's not on the same level. 

"You don't need his approval if you wanna shave it all, go for it. I have clippers to do mine," the feeling of shaving off the back of his neck is always a mix of excitement and dread at the prospect of fucking up. Hence a really clever system he has created which is basically called 'Hey Adonis can you come over, I fucking need your help', it's working well. "For bangs yeah go to see a professional though."

A part of him, the rational one, always boring, whispers that Hinata won't do it anyway. The agency would slaughter him over such callous choice. Which isn't fair.

"Why did you leave?" a soft voice asks, on the verge of breaking as nails slips while attacking one another, blood appearing on Hinata's fingers, "Gave up being an idol after everything?"

Step back, abort mission.

Silence befalls them once again. 'Everything' is the problem here. What kept on happening, tragedies piling up until he couldn't muster the strength to care about them? He doesn't mind the strange looks that photographers and stylists give him when he forgets to put away the UNDEAD jewelry he wore for so long it almost became a part of him. That's his fault, for being sentimental about—what represented his life for years. He should be able to completely shatter all connections to the past. The truth is that he doesn't wish to.

People expect him to pick a side, not to greedily keep parts of each he appreciates while ignoring the rest. Fuck them.

So, he inhales sharply, abandoning the bracelet to—he extends a hand, stopping with fingers in mid-air, upon realizing he was about to grab Hinata's. That's—oh, wait, it's too ensure he won't make himself bleed further. Going back on track, he does exactly that, lowering their joined hands on the table. He is careful to grip lightly so the other can remove his if he wants.

He does not.

Cool. Koga can totally deal.

"I felt suffocated, always having to follow stupid rules, not being able to weight on projects any longer, so I didn't renew my contract," he takes a break, licking his lips without thinking. A lone wolf is more at ease by himself, he wants to add. Which would be stupid, since he enjoys having a pack. He's simply a bit distant at times, "it fucking wrecked me at first, not gonna lie. It sucked the first weeks, being alone and terrified of what my fri—everyone would think of me."

He gives a light push against Hinata's palm, afraid of doing everything wrong—he has never been a role model, always uneasy when put into the spotlight, prone to embarrassing outbursts. It's hard.

"Are you happy?"

"Yeah. It's kinda a work of progress some days but I am."

"Okay."

For a while, they remain like this, until Koga mutters something about having a first aid-kit somewhere and letting go. He is gone so fast, rummaging through his belongings, that he misses the way Hinata presses his warm palm against his cheeks, eyes closed in either relief or anguish.

_I_ _want to stop being an idol_. No, that's wrong.

_I want to stop being with you_. Terrible, terrible! 

_I want to be myself, I know it's what you wish for me, right?_ Why are you guilt-tripping people all the damn time! 

_I want_ —

Hinata returns to the dorms with a smile, and bandages mostly hidden underneath his clothes. He practices after class, doesn't skip lunch or dinner, and posts pictures of his cat online when he has enough time. He's fine.

_I want_ —

He's fine.

Hinata Aoi has turned eighteen, and he is sitting on the window ledge, legs dangling into the air, telling himself it's fine, he is fine, he doesn't want to jump or to go through some dirty memory. It’s here though—it won’t go away.

_He's fine._

He wakes Yuta up, hours later, as the sun is setting in, basking their shared room in a soft glow. He climbs on the edge of the bed, words akin to blades plunged in his throat.

"I'm not okay," he confesses to his half-asleep brother.

Clumsy hands, not quite awake either, tugs him down on the bed, blankets over his body. Over both of them. He thinks he's bawling, the ugly kind which brings no relief, although he isn't certain, unable to make a sound.

Yuta is furious, he always is when Hinata is like that; lying his way out of things. He doesn't say 'I thought you were better,' it has been years since, and Hinata has not—he hides against his twin, head buried away from view. It's too warm under the covers, not that either of them has the will to push them away.

People knock on the door eventually, asking why they weren't down for breakfast. Hinata forgets how to breathe or to speak, letting Yuta be the older sibling for once. He says they are sick, and yeah they'll be back to class tomorrow, it won't affect their next performance. It's such a monotone excuse that Hinata doesn't know what to add. Once footsteps are long gone, Yuta sits up, blankets falling off them.

"You can't keep doing that, pushing yourself for my sake. It—"

"I want to quit like Oogami."

Eloquently, Yuta opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, a sight that he gets to witness by untangling himself from his brother.

_Selfish_ , the not-Yuta voice hisses, _selfish and cruel_ , _tossing your little brother away for freedom_. It's not that! He starts crying once more, sniffing loudly and glaring at the sunlight which has invaded the room completely.

It's when Yuta notices.

The open windows, wind blowing softly inside.

Hinata feels only guilt and some odd emptiness, when his brother leaves the bed to slam it closed with a lot more strength than necessary. Even more when he sits back down, pressing palms against his cheeks.

"Look at me. Please."

He expects rage, the kind That man could unleash against them, demanding impossible things and getting infuriated they couldn't manage any. He braces himself for something wrong, like he did with Oogami.

What is wrong with him? He was a street performer, never afraid of obtaining money by producing himself even in the late winter evenings. That's a lie, he was scared when he did that in elementary school, when That man couldn’t bother giving them money for dinner. He still is, sometimes. Of nonsensical gestures or sentences, of upsetting his classmates by being too much. He cannot stop being like that though—

"Hinata, look at me," it's softer this time, and he flinches at the use of his name rather than 'big bro'. _I hate Hinata, but I don't hate myself_.

That sounds pitiful.

He lifts his gaze, blurry with tears, colliding with Yuta's. He is upset, as anticipated, although he isn't shouting or blaming him. Instead, they spend a moment like this.

"I'm sorry, I failed you again."

"N-no!"

"I didn't realize you were that—you never tell me, you swore you would and I—you didn't want to jump, right?"

It sounds like a plea.

He shakes his head, pressing his palms over Yuta's, who seems to relax slightly.

"The other day, when you mentioned cutting your hair, I—got worried. I was happy too. It was—you never asked for us to be different on your own over the past months."

Routine is hard enough, Hinata wants to reply. He avoids doing so, causing more pain to his sibling. Ah, that's a shitty mindset, after everything he has done.

As the leader of 2wink, he should have planned a bright future for both of them, rather than begging to abandon their dream after all these years. What would That man do to them, for wasting that too—he refuses to spend time thinking about such person. Coming to see them on stage once isn't enough, will never be.

"I'm tired," he whimpers, because _wrecked_ sounds wrong somehow, "I—"

"You're a pain, honestly," Yuta presses their foreheads together, eyes closed, "I am an idol. You don't have to be one though. Of course, I'm gonna have to change my whole gimmick, I guess?" He lets out a strangled laugh, slowly lowering his hands. It’s acceptance, yet it’s not. He gets, instinctively, that Yuta will need to get used to the idea, step by step.

Hinata can tell, once more, that he is a wicked child causing problems, albeit not on purpose.

Is it selfish, to be relieved that Yuta isn't going to throw him aside in spite of that?

"At worst, you can replace me with one of the cats."

"They are way cuter than you, true."

"Hey!"

_Hinata is fine_. Or perhaps not. He has time though.

He lasts until graduation, ignoring the way their father texts to ask to attend the ceremony. Yuta takes his sweet time typing a long rant with countless amused little stars and symbols, blaming That man for everything wrong in their lives, forbidding him from coming closer. Does he send it? Hinata doesn't care.

Apparently his abrupt abandon of his career isn't as weird as he expected. Many idols give up at some point, that's how it is, he gets told by a tired secretary a couple of days later.

After parting with everyone—Yuta gushing over Shinobu's first role as a minor character in the current season of Kamen Rider, and claiming they are going to celebrate that together—he walks back to their dorms, getting changed and heading out too. They have to be gone within the following week, so new students can replace them. A never ending circle.

Oogami is there, in front of the gates, terribly out of place, guitar case over his shoulder. Was he practicing with others? His bass is—somewhere, among his belongings, probably used as a climbing spot by the cats. He grins at the newcomer, genuine happiness flaring into his chest.

“Here, congrats Hina’.”

Hinata stares, a myriad of yellow treasures invading his gaze. The bouquet of sunflowers surely wasn’t expected at all. Oogami could have bothered to show up at graduation—must be heavy though, to carry all these emotions about Yumenosaki, his own heart feels like a brick some mornings. The blush on Oogami’s cheeks is nice, especially when it spreads to the tip of his ears, leaving him a mix of colors that Hinata wants to commit to memory so he’ll never forget this moment.

Egocentric child, too pleased to be the one with a bouquet—sometimes he wants more than what Yuta has, appalling thoughts spiraling into something hideous—twirling it into the air alongside his body. His knee has long healed, not that he has given another choice. Weeping over one self is a waste of money for everyone, isn’t it?

“Thanks~! It’s super pretty, Oogami.”

Almost as sweet as you, the child who wasn’t gifted a lot until that day doesn’t add.

“Koga.”

“Heeeey? You’re letting me use your first name. Means we are super close now!”

“Stop making this shit weird! Anyway, are you ready? For the whole haircut thing?”

“We’re going now?”

Is it beyond the limit to change his mind and take ten steps backward? Holding the sunflowers—precious gift he wants to carry everywhere with him for the rest of the day—Hinata hesitates. Rocking on his heels, he considers sprinting away another time at the idea of what will happen after. He hasn’t even told Yuta he would go today.

_You don’t need his permission to do as you please,_ Oogami—no Koga, seems to say, stern gaze firmly planted in front of him. “Yeah, move you’ ass.”

“Ro~ger!”

Fingers run through bangs over and over, adjusting them until he figures out what feels right. He has been at it for over ten minutes, in awe at his reflection, no headphones or hairpins indicating who he is. He doubts the answer, for a moment, as if his identity had been misplaced underneath scissors.

“You fret a lot for something that small. Next time get an undercut or something cooler, make it wild,” Koga suggests, teeth clenching a straw. They went to get drinks, cozy bubble tea place that the oldest appears familiar with, considering how the person at the counter knew his order before he could open his mouth.

“If it’s shaving, Koga could do it for me, right? You said—”

“Sure. It’s cheaper too.”

“I’ll repay you with my greatest smile!”

The kick underneath the table isn’t painful at all and he takes a sip of his drink, sunflowers resting on the table next to theirs. That’s a great day, he decides.

Hinata has a breakdown later that evening, once back at the dorms, facing Yuta and showing the difference, how—t _raitor,_ _what have you done_ _,_ the voice hisses, and he hates it—everything feels wrong and foolish at once. Yuta simply steps forward, tugging on a strand of hair longer than the others.

“I’m still the cuter twin, don’t cry over that.”

They both know it’s not about that at all.

It helps a little, nonetheless.

Although their paths are starting to diverge, the Aoi siblings decide to live together. Their balance is too precarious, being separated wouldn’t work out. It’s fine, if they are rarely in sync, home at the same time, that’s their place in the end. That man will never obtain the keys, nor their forgiveness. That’s not about earning it, or anything like that, merely that they have no reason to offer such possibility. Yuta finds jobs, mostly related to acting, that one big role in a drama about gymnastics, and Hinata exists.

He whispers taboos as if he were born with them on the tip of his tongue, unsure of how to let them out.

“I want to die, some days,” he laughs, breathless after an improvised music session at Koga’s.

Startled, the other almost drops his precious guitar, only to snarl at him instead.

Who is wicked enough to say such thing?

“Fucker, do something! Don’t go aroun’ sayin’ that if you don’t wanna if that shit!”

“I have no idea how,” he shouts back, hatred spreading akin to a tidal wave underneath his fingers, bass screaming against his touch.

Always keep these fragments of sadness inside, swallow them with a proud smile, heal on your own. None of this makes any sense. How are you meant to achieve happiness without support? Should he dig his fingers into his hair, tugging until it grows back and he can hide behind it again? What would even be the point? _I hate Aoi Hinata, it’s me, it’s not normal._

“We’ll find a way,” Koga replies, voice akin to a growl, “shut the fuck up and play for now.”

Giggles burst out his throat, treacherous symptom of emotions beyond his grasp.

“You wanna do somethin’ more aggressive?” As fingers slide across strings, melody turning into thunder hitting the walls around them, muffling the screams inside his own heart—neighbors will complain again—Hinata takes a deep breath, shoulders shaking against his will.

Koga wasn’t born in music, didn’t get a guitar until he was too old to be considered a prodigy, despite that he is the one whose soul is made out of notes and partitions. Contagious passion, Hinata allowing his fingers to burn as he attempts to follow the rhythm, finding it oddly familiar; an old UNDEAD song, perhaps. Couldn’t they play until they collapse? Wouldn’t be grand, to increase the pressure until exploding? Ah, that does sound fun.

He sits on an old plastic chair at the clinic, fingers laced with red marks from practicing too much. Koga clicks his tongue each time he tries to pick at the marks, ending up lacing their fingers so he cannot cause more damage. That’s weird, how little he minds.

Waiting rooms are a rite of passage, a tedious moment leading to—when his name is called, he almost pulls Koga onto his feet alongside his body. Scowl on his face, Koga quickly presses a kiss against the back of his hand, before releasing him, leading back on the chair until it winces. Ah, affection—Hinata isn’t certain of what it means, and apparently neither does the nurse as she avoids making a comment about the situation.

The visit is finished in the blink of an eye, whereas waiting stripped him of years ahead.

Questions were answered with, what he hopes was the right amount of truth, and a hint of deceit. The next slot for therapy is in six months, thus he’ll have to wait until then. And four for a psychiatrist. He asked for both, unsure of the difference, of his needs, in spite of reading countless articles online over the past nights. Will people understand? No, because he won’t tell.

_There is too much shame,_ Koga told him, running a brush through ginger locks, _in his damn country about struggling. Ya’ don’t have to put your emotions on display to be pitied. Y_ _ou don’t own them anythin’, not even an explanation._

He likes that mindset, secretive enough for his tastes. Is it the right one? Who knows.

“I’m starving,” are the first words the other gives him, offering his hand out as if he was missing the feeling of having him close.

Hinata grabs it, squeezing too hard without knowing why. Koga won’t vanish on him, after all.

The voice of Yuta-who-is-Hinata must be whispering something inside his mind; he ignores it, chatter escaping his mouth to drown this parasite which isn’t nothing more than a pest.

The job offer is a surprise, honestly.

A normal day of modeling, strumming on his guitar in a corner of the room awaiting for his turn, boredom replaced by focus until he is composing a melody, scribbling notes on a piece of paper. He only learns later, mortified, that the owner of the brand, and also leader of a band, was in the room during the shoot. Koga isn’t certain of how he managed to fucking miss that, must have been the fact it was late. “Oh yeah he’s creating a new band, and he told me to give you his business card,” the makeup artist tells him casually, slipping the card between his hands. _Fuck_ , is all runs through his brain for a while.

Takes him two days to contact the man. One hour between his audition and the follow-up call saying he’s hired. Might not work out, he’s told, but it’s worth giving it a shot. Everyone is much older than him, which is kind of weird, especially upon meeting them for the first time. He deals though, growling that he doesn’t want a newer guitar because the one he has is his precious treasure.

Yeah, he gets teased a lot by his seniors.

That’s a world he is building brick by brick, or rather with brand new clothes he is paid to show off, and new bonds whomst do not invalidate the others. He starts reviving the UNDEAD group chat on a whim, sending memes and whatever he is doing with his days until the others start doing the same. He bullies Sakuma bastard, someone has to, and that’s a fall he is willing to take for the team, reminding him that England is not on another planet and that’s not an excuse to be a fucking asshole who forgets to text. He gets thanked for that, and called a very good child. Which is better than ‘doggy waiting for his master’. There are jokes he wants to grow past.

“Delivery~! I’m late, sorry,” The voice chimes on the other side of the door before Hinata gets in, wearing clothes which matches his. That’s awfully embarrassing, but since he once brought him along for a shooting, and that they were apparently adorable or whatever bullshit Hinata managed to make them believe, the other has been offered to also promote the brand. Which makes them look like a couple everywhere they go, especially with the jewelry and—the fact they tend to hold hands, probably.

Both of them have a lot of energy, okay? If they do not do that, one always ends up wandering off to god knows where.

Outside of that joke, he is definitely in love with Hinata.

“You ain’t late, go wash your hands,” he mumbles, taking the pizzas off his boyfriend’s hands, “how was therapy?”

“Hm-hm~ It sure was _therapy_?”

“Fair enough.”

When did they even become officials? He has no damn idea. One day, while they were playing their instruments together, Hinata leaned against him, position uncomfortable and ill-advised for such activity. Instead of scolding him, all Koga did was pressing his head on top of his, planting a kiss right there. Perhaps it was when they realized what had been happening. Or on that evening where Leon had stolen one of Hinata’s slipper and they ran after him for minutes, laughing and shouting at the same time. There isn’t one moment above the others, it’s only a series of ordinary things he cherishes.

The familiarity of Hinata has grown into his bones, invisible sunflowers growing across the flat, leaving a dozen of sun in their trail; packages of cakes and other delicacies forgotten on every surface high enough so Leon cannot reach for them, another pair of shoes in the hallway, on one which he keeps on tripping, cursing that kid who can’t put them properly in the corner. He’s breathing life with each step the other takes, twirling around his personal space, sitting on the counter, fingers taping against it alongside the buzz coming from a decayed fridge he needs to get replaced.

That’s their home; no need for both of them to live there all the time.

The day where Hinata is ready to trust himself to walk freely, without trying to catch up to his brother, Koga will welcome him with open arms.

“I love you,” he offers, loud and clear, while ripping half of his slice in one go, greedy hands already reaching for the next one, “Hinata,” he adds, because he has to. For now.

“I love Koga too,” and, they wasted their lives, for sure. Diverting from the path meant for them without a warning, a sentimental sort of nostalgia invading their eyes when Yumenosaki is mentioned. What if, they avoid saying, as they aren’t certain they would appreciate the answer. Honestly, who gives a damn about what could have been? Koga is a model and a musician, and he might even go on tour next year. Hinata lives from showing off clothes lacking the colors he used to carry everywhere, adding pink socks or earrings when he wants a reminder of the past. That’s not much.

It’s everything they could have ever wanted.

“Leon, don’t climb on the table—Oi Hina’ grab him, quick!”

“Yes, yes! Come here you wretched beast!”

“Don’t call him like that!”

“Beautiful prince of the kingdom?”

“That’s better!”

As for Leon? He gets twice attention, so he isn’t going to complain.


End file.
